Zeon Odyssey: Genesis
by Carrot21
Summary: Garma decides to set out in his Zaku with Char to track down the Trojan Horse in Seattle. It seemed commonplace, but the events that transpire from this choice will forever change the fate of Zeon. An Alternative Universe setting.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not have rights to the Gundam franchise or its characters. I am simply borrowing them.

**Dedication:** To my betas kishiriadgr and Sybil Rowan for looking over what needed to be fixed.

**Side Note:** The canon referred for this story can be found in the television shows _Mobile Suit Gundam 0079_, _Mobile Suit Zeta Gundam_, _Mobile Suit Gundam ZZ_, _Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket_, _Mobile Suit Gundam: The 08th MS Team_, _Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn_, and the movie _Mobile Suit Gundam: Char's Counterattack_.

**Zeon Odyssey: Genesis**

**Prologue**

_Light me a fire to purify this house._

Homer: The Odyssey

October 3rd was said by Zeon Deikun to never be forgotten. For on this day, hundreds of millions cried out for their right to independence from the bureaucrats of Earth. No one would have believed twenty-one years prior that the small and humble colony of Side 3 would emerge into a sovereignty of its own. And yet, Deikun had achieved such a feat by spreading his ideology and promise in a few short years to those who cared to listen.

Some considered it a miracle. Others considered it a curse. But whether someone's view was one or the other, the fact remained that Deikun had started something. The Republic of Zeon became a reality on October 3, 0058.

But as all remarkable affairs in history, goodwill and enthusiasm turned into turmoil. Cordial greetings were met with caution. Friends proved themselves enemies, and a united front split into factions. The environment spilled with hostile frenzy, fighting within themselves in how to rule their new nation. Zeon Deikun, once considered a leader of the people, became a threat.

To no one's surprise, but to a few's disdain, Zeon Deikun passed away. Grief struck many, from close family to those who lived in the Republic. Immediately following the funeral, Degwin Zabi, former chief of staff, took the reins of the Republic. Degwin swore an oath to the people of Side 3 that Zeon Deikun had named him successor, but was met with a handful of raised eyebrows. The suspicious exchanged talk of Degwin Zabi committing murder. Even with these accusations running amuck, no evidence was produced.

After months of unrest, and Zeon Deikun supporters going incognito, many of Side 3 disregarded the old conflicts and focused on their current sovereignty. They named it the Principality of Zeon. And throughout the years of the Principality, Degwin Zabi and his family grew more powerful and influential.

Yet the Earth Federation was knocking on their doorstep. And soon flexing muscles and strengthening military bases wasn't enough to satisfy either side. The belligerence swelled, consuming everyone within its grasp. War was declared on January 3, 0079. Colonies were gassed, and billions of colonists were lost.

The Principality of Zeon had another ace up its sleeve to rub salt in the wound. It consisted of two words that would never be forgotten: Colony Drop. Two-hundred million wiped clean from the Earth on impact, and more lives snuffed out from environmental disturbance.

With the full force of Zeon's might put on stage for the world to see, Side 6 declared itself a neutral party. Side 5 was resistant, and thus met the relentless blows of Zeon's attack force at the Battle of Loum. Both the Federation and the Principality decided to come to an agreement with half the human population extinguished. They formulated the Antarctic Treaty, which banned all weapons of mass destruction. The war pressed on.

In need of more resources, Zeon assault forces led by Garma Zabi were deployed throughout Asia, Africa, North America, and Europe. The mission proved to be successful, and Garma Zabi was rewarded with overseeing the territory of North America as Commander of the Earth Occupation Forces. Fate seemed to favor the Principality, and Garma was satisfied with that at the time.

Such simple gratification came to a halt the day he received a call from Commander Char Aznable about a Federation Mobile Suit. Saying that this call changed his life would be an understatement. For what soon followed became the destiny of all who were expected in this world by Zeon Deikun.

_Regardless of for better or worse, the hearts of Zeon beat strong with the night of October 3rd._


	2. Chapter One: Festival Night

**Note:** For this chapter, dialog has been taken from the television series _Mobile Suit Gundam 0079_, episode ten "Garma's Fate".

**Zeon Odyssey: Genesis**

**Festival Night**

Tonight marked an annual celebration for Zeon's people. It was the night of October 3rd, a day every citizen of Zeon knew well. The city of New York had planned ahead of time to accommodate their special guests. It was to be held at the manor of Mayor Eschonbach and former Earth Federation citizens were encouraged to attend.

The staff in charge of the arrangements had lit paper lanterns on each side of the main pathway parallel to each other, which led to the front door entrance. Gardeners manicured the hedges and rosebushes on the lawn the morning prior. Despite Mayor Eschonbach's inner protests about playing host to Zeon, he kept quiet. He painted a smile on his face and greeted them. He even managed to chat when officials bothered to make small talk. Excitement and gossip buzzed through the air, along with more resentful emotions hidden within sly comments.

Garma Zabi found the room stifling as more guests piled into the manor. He adjusted his collar and took a sip of wine before letting his eyes wander through the crowd.

Guests had wrapped themselves in silk dresses and tailored suits for the event. Tables were decorated in rich reds, whites, and blacks to mimic Zeon's flag. Men and women chinked together crystal glasses with their laughter not far behind. And the hired orchestra strung sweet melodies together in a corner while it echoed through the room.

It was all a façade, of course. It served the people here a false promise for the time being. There was no war outside those walls. He took a sip of his wine in acknowledgement. It was a lie, but a beautiful one.

His eyes trailed up above the heads of guests. A framed portrait of Degwin Zabi was hanging on the wall above. Garma resisted the urge to flinch. It was as if his father were in the room with him, watching his every move. It made him feel like an ant before a magnifying glass. He wondered to himself if his plan to catch the Trojan Horse would succeed. He took another sip out of his wine glass, but this time out of need to settle the shiver rising up his spine.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Garma turned around. Two gentlemen looked eagerly at him. One appeared to be older, wearing a white suit with a red rose pinned to his lapel. The other was most likely in his late forties. He wore a more ostentatious color for his suit: maroon. The color made him look bold and lively, and probably gave the gentleman a confidence to approach Garma in the first place.

"So I heard your father, Sovereign Zabi, may be visiting Earth sometime in the near future," the gentleman in the maroon suit said, attempting to start a conversation.

"I haven't heard anything," Garma said, taking another sip of wine.

"Ah." The gentleman leaned towards Garma. He put his hand to his mouth as if whispering something to a child to entertain him. "Well if he does come, it would be a great honor to serve under him." The gentleman then exchanged a quick look with his elder friend, and both broke into fits of chuckles.

Garma forced a laugh. These two men waved around their disrespect like rude schoolchildren, but it didn't matter. He had dealt with this kind of attitude before, and from learned previous experiences, it was best to ignore it. After all, there was a party to enjoy.

He was about to interject his thoughts on a safer topic, such as the chef's prepared pork chops, before spotting a familiar face in the corner of his eye. He perked up his head and watched Char Aznable snake through clumps of guests to sit near the bar counter on the far right wall.

"Excuse me. I'll see you later," he said to the gentlemen, bowing in a quick dip. Garma then turned his gaze back to the bar, his feet leading the way.

Halfway across the room he caught a few words exchanged between two blushing women.

"Oh, Garma always looks so gallant in his uniform!"

"I wouldn't mind seeing what's _under_ it."

He resisted the urge to titter while his feet hastened in their strides. What he wouldn't give for that three years ago, before he entered the military academy. The moment of nostalgia framed it for him in the corner of this mind. A young boy with bright violet eyes shining full of ambition and optimism. A boy whose only worries consisted of being second in his class and what girl to take out to lunch. It seemed so long ago.

He reached the bar and slid onto a seat next to Char. Garma looked over to see Char's hand curled over a glass of scotch. His face appeared worn-out. Garma's eyebrows furrowed, and he handed his empty wine glass to the bartender. He was sure he looked the same as Char. The last week had definitely taken a toll on their sleep. He hadn't fought so hard since his first day as a Captain.

The bartender handed him back a full glass of wine. Garma gripped it firmly and exhaled with short breath.

"Bunch of fools," Char said bitterly. Garma took a swig from his drink and nodded in reply. "They'd all be terrified if they knew about the Trojan Horse and the new Mobile Suit," Char continued, a slight frown forming on his face.

Garma set his glass down, already empty. He was certain Char knew of the problem they were facing, now that the Trojan Horse had crossed into this territory. The area was vast; it would be like trying to single out one star in the sky.

"That's right," Garma chimed in, "the problem is there's too much area to cover to pursue the Trojan Horse."

"Garma, who is that gentleman?"

Garma turned his gaze to where Char was concentrating. He spotted the man who Char was curious about immediately. Icelina's father surrounded himself with enthused guests. It wasn't hard to see why. He wore a sleek navy blue suit with a pendant near his collar that flashed a coat of arms; it was all accompanied by his natural, fluffed hair. It was an unusual combination, groomed but soft. And it drew people in.

"That's the former mayor, Eschonbach. He hates the Zeon. Although he did stay behind. Seems he decided to look after the civilians."

"Sounds like a stubborn man."

Quite. But then again, the man had lost everything except a small piece of his land and his daughter. His small community that survived the conquest of Zeon was there to help him pick up the pieces, Icelina had told him. What was left, what remained, was his family now.

"It's my pleasure to introduce Icelina Eschonbach!"

Garma snapped out of his musings. He peered up to see Icelina glancing back down at him. She smiled and dipped in a curtsy. Garma barely drew breath as he watched Icelina glide down the stairs. Ruffles of midnight blue fluttered from her dress in greeting. An enticed gentleman kissed her hand. She batted her eyelashes a few times and retracted her hand.

Garma grinned widely. She was just so coy like that, and he found it rather charming. Char gasped beside him. Garma guessed he agreed.

"If you'll excuse me, Char," Garma said, moving towards where Icelina stood in wait. She glowed, beaming at him.

His hand reached for hers, and she grasped it firmly. His forefinger brushed her skin. It was still soft as he remembered. He bent down to kiss her hand, catching a whiff of her scent. She had chosen a perfume she dubbed 'Peach Blossom' during their courting. It became his favorite from then on.

Garma held her hand to his face a second longer, admiring her selection. He then let it down gently. She took in a sharp breath. Her eyes never left his face as she did so.

"Let's get out of here. Just for a while," Garma said. She nodded in agreement.

"It's about time. I can barely breathe in here!"

They strode to the balcony to no notice of the other guests who were enraptured in their own small talk. Garma sighed in relief. There were very few times in his life where he was able to be alone with those he chose. And he intended to enjoy every bit of it while it lasted.

She clasped his hand with her own, leading him to the center of the balcony. He wished there was more time. Time where he could take Icelina to a clearing they found near the lake when they first started dating. They had made love there on several occasions. He still remembered how she rested on him while wild strands of hair tickled his sides.

Out of impulse, she twirled with the guide of his hand, imitating an unfinished waltz. He witnessed the folds of her dress dancing to the music only heard playing in his mind. When she finished spinning, Icelina leaned into him. His heart leaped as she buried her face deeper into his chest, her arms clinging to his shoulders. Garma nudged the crown of her head with his chin, finally resting upon it.

"I'm not sure this counts as waltzing, Icelina."

Icelina looked up at him and rolled her eyes, pushing him away. She muttered something that sounded like "rude" under her breath and folded her arms.

"I was joking!"

One of her eyebrows raised. She then huffed in irritation.

"I'll never get your sense of humor," she said while shaking her head. She had pursed lips that looked like they wouldn't relax for years. Her arms crossed and she turned away, facing the moonstruck trees.

"Father knows everything now. About us, I mean."

Garma reached out his hand towards her, resting it on her shoulder. Icelina leaned her head near him, and her body followed. Her eyes were wide, holding a look of apprehension. He tried to give her a look of reassurance, brushing a few wisps of hair away from her face. He could sense her distress, like a wave had engulfed him whole and dragged him far away from the surface.

He wanted to say something. But instead he stood by her, breathless**. **Words of comfort would have come across as jilted, forced, and he knew it. All he could do was be silent, and wait.

"He doesn't approve, you know."

The corner of Garma's mouth twitched. Icelina didn't seem to notice. Of course he didn't approve. It wouldn't matter if Garma came to the man with gold magically spouting from his hands while light emitted from him as angels sung in the background. The fact still remained that Garma was a member of a group that had conquered his homeland and rung up Federation casualties. And a Zabi to top it all off. The news still bruised his ego though.

"He thinks a colonel who's an heir to the Zabi family isn't good enough for his daughter?"

"Yes."

He laughed. His emotions had escaped him for a fleeting moment. "With all due respect, that sounds just like your father."

"I don't care about what he wants me to be. I care about you," she said, biting her lip for a fraction of a second. "He can't stop me from loving you."

Garma stood there in shock. He looked into her eyes. She didn't look away. Her gaze stung him like a fresh slap striking his face. She wasn't kidding.

"Icelina," he whispered, his mouth trembling. She curled herself into his arms and started to cry.

"I want you. Even if I have to betray my own father, I want you."

_She is seventeen_, Garma thought, _she doesn't know what she wants_. And for that matter, neither did he.

Garma began to stroke her hair. He tried not to dwell on the problems of their situation. But it crept up into his mind and flooded him with the troubles he struggled to avoid. She was still a kid, and he was a fool. He wanted to tell her the truth. That for the past week he had never been more terrified in his life. That he had narrowly escaped death in a Dopp. And that his mind tormented him with the thought he would not return from this mission. And more than anything else, that he would never live up to his family's hopes. It fed off of him, like a parasite.

His muscles ached, and his nights of sleep were interrupted because of it. He wanted to tell her all of this, to unload all his worries here on the moonlit balcony. But it was selfish on his part and he knew it. He would have to keep her in the dark. Her mind was content there.

"I can't afford to betray my own father and Zeon," he started, but stopped, seeing Icelina's pained expression. He would have to choose his words more wisely.

He grasped her hands, giving them a light squeeze. "Listen, I have a good chance of capturing some important Federation secrets. Icelina, if I pull this off, my father won't…come between us."

"Oh, Garma," she sighed. Her green eyes shined at him. They emitted a warmth that was almost foreign.

"If my father refuses to grant me my wish, then I will abandon Zeon," he blurted out.

_What a stupid thing to say_, Garma thought. He had mulled over that possibility before, but still remained uncertain on whether he could commit to such a promise. The charms of Icelina Eschonbach. He could sometimes get lost in them.

She leaned forward to kiss him. He complied with a quick peck. Her lips were tender, untainted by the realities he faced daily. He desired to deepen the kiss, but it was a distraction he could not afford. Not right now, anyway.

"Colonel Garma!"

"What is it?" Garma snapped. He pulled away from Icelina to see his lieutenant in at attention.

"It's about the Trojan Horse, Sir! It's now passed the S-3 point."

"What?"

"Colonel, if they break through our final defensive -"

This was his last shot to make amends for all his blunders. He had the Trojan Horse cornered right where he wanted it, and with enough carbon carpet bombing from his Dopps to scare the enemy, the patrol dunes had an opportunity to find it. There was little to hide under with most of the city in ruins. Everything was coming to fruition.

And yet, a sour taste lingered in his mouth. If something went wrong, it was over. Sure, he might survive, but the cost of failure had a high price. America was his territory, a place where he could set terms to catch his prize. Once the Trojan Horse crossed over his borders, it was up for the highest bidder. He had a chance here. It was slim, but it was still something. Still possible.

However, if it slipped through his fingers here, there was no sense in recovering it. Char, M'Quve, and others would embark on a wild goose chase for it in search for glory and promotions, but for him it would be tom foolery. He would only be a sore loser to his people, his family, and himself.

"It's just as I planned," Garma said, hearing Icelina take in a sharp gasp.

"There's another defensive line yet," he continued. "It's fine! I will head them off myself with a mobile squadron. Inform Commander Char we're leaving! Mobilize!"

"Sir!"

The lieutenant gave a quick nod and headed off to the Gau. Garma slipped away from Icelina's hands that tried to tighten their grip on him.

"Garma?" Icelina whimpered.

"After I capture the Federation's new weapons, I will present them to my people. And at the same moment, I will present you as my fiancée," Garma said, the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

Icelina exhaled faintly, and her eyes glazed over. He couldn't tell if her response was more out of fondness or worry. Lacking the luxury of time, he kissed her cheek in farewell and sprinted towards the port where the Gau was located.

* * *

><p>Char stood by the hangar, waiting patiently for him. Garma ran up to the opening, slightly panting.<p>

"Colonel, I received news that the Trojan Horse is heading towards us from south of here," Char reported, closing the gap between them.

"Correct. Lieutenant Graham relayed the information to me five minutes ago. Given its speed -"

"It should be within a sixty kilometer radius."

"Yes."

The Gau took flight as Garma and Char trod to the bridge of the ship. His stomach flipped as the engine roared to life, parting with the ground. The vibration hummed in his ears in a familiar greeting. It filled him with anticipation, yet also brought with it a sense of caution.

"Hamble," Garma addressed as the subordinate jerked his head to face him.

"Inform the patrol dunes to begin scouting the area within a sixty kilometer radius. Quickly! We commence carbon bombing in twenty."

"Sir!"

Hamble rushed to the phone on Garma's right. His fingers were swift on the dial keys and reached the Seattle patrol line with little effort. Hamble gave the patrol dunes the order, and then nodded to Garma.

"Good." Garma then strolled to the communications screen, pressing the line to connect with Lieutenant Gable.

"Sir?"

"Prepare the launch of carbon bombing."

The time slipped through Garma's fingers, and soon twenty minutes turned into seconds. Flashes of light filled the sky, and the resonance of explosions rang through his ears. The Gau drifted southward while more bombs dropped. Still nothing.

Thirty minutes had now passed. Sweat beaded across Garma's forehead and a musky odor drifted from his damp undershirt. He wondered where on Earth such a colossal beast could seek refuge here. He fidgeted with his hair. They used nearly half the bombs in storage. He could hear Gihren's disapproving voice, remarking such a thing to be a rookie's mistake.

"Garma."

"What?" he barked, turning his head towards the voice. His mouth quivered and he released a spurt of breath. "I'm sorry, Char," he mumbled. Garma stretched over his chair and then rubbed his eyes.

"I'm not quite sure I recognize your strategy, Colonel."

He let his hands rest above his face, then inhaled before settling them on the sides of his chair. "There isn't much the Trojan Horse can hide under here. I was sure the addition of bombs would put the Federation on edge, and make them more careless in their tactics. Or at least reveal their general location," Garma explained.

"Ah."

Garma glided his vision to the window as another burst of golden orange and dark red spread through the sky.

"I miscalculated, didn't I?" he murmured.

"Hmmm."

It wasn't like Char to be so unsure and vague. He always had the answer. At least, that's what Garma had thought until now. He relied on him ever since the early days at the Academy. Garma looked down and fiddled with his pockets. Char Aznable: unreliable in action. The thought was ridiculous. But then again, so was a massive battleship vanishing in thin air.

"Colonel! Patrol dunes on line one!"

"Put them through."

"Through, sir! With an update on their scouting. They are currently waiting for your response on the situation."

Garma grabbed the phone on the right wall. His fingers curled around the receiver so hard he thought it would snap in two.

"Colonel Garma."

"Yes, this is he."

"Our units have searched for over half an hour. No signal has shown on our radar, sir. Our scouts have combed this area and have found no ship."

"What, patrol dunes? You can't find the Trojan Horse?" Wonderful. This is all he needed right now.

"No luck yet, sir." Clearly.

"Well, they haven't left the city! Try harder!" Garma shouted, slamming the phone onto the receiver.

Tactless. Tactless. Tactless. He knew he had lost his temper. The patrol dunes didn't deserve his frustration for something they had no control over. _Try harder_. He cursed himself for managing to come up with such a stupid command. The patrol dunes would lend no aid to him now.

"You may be right. The most speedy way to flush a rat out of its nest is with a little carbon bombing," Char intervened.

_So now he speaks_, Garma thought.

"Mmm. Right. Prepare for roller shift bombardment. And commence second wave of bombing as soon as you're ready!"

"Sir!"

Garma pushed strands of stray hair out of his face and frowned. Everything told him that this strategy was useless: The lack of results, the increasing depletion of carbon bombs, Lieutenant Colonel Hamble rubbing his forehead then looking at a control panel to the far left, and most of all, his gut feeling. Every fiber of his being was shouting at him to stop this. His muscles ached from the tension that racked and pounded throughout his body. And a tingling sensation spread from his spine to his fingertips. It left a creepy feeling under his skull, as if there were snakes writhing around his brain.

But Char had advised differently. And even though Garma had his doubts, his response to Char was automatic. It was Char. He had never steered him in the wrong direction before. Garma ruffled his hair with hands that now stuck to his gloves.

More bombs brightened the night sky in flashes of gold, orange, and dark rusty hues. Smoke wafted around the city like an ominous shadow. Ten minutes passed on Garma's watch. He turned to Hamble.

"Any more news from Gable about the Trojan Horse?"

"Not yet, sir. Still waiting."

"Where is it?" he muttered to himself. "What's going on?" Garma then peered up at Char with wary eyes.

"Colonel, they're improving their tactics. So we'll have to be even smarter."

It seems Char came to the same conclusion he had. There was only one other option left. It was a last resort, a Plan B he never really planned to put to use. It required more improvisation than method. The strategy begged death to come over for a visit. But drastic times called for drastic measures.

"Well, we'll have to go down to the surface and find it."

"Garma, wait! If you really want to take the risk, I'll go down there with my men instead."

He wanted to say yes and allow Char to take over this operation so weight could be lifted off his shoulders. He yearned to breathe freely, if only for a few seconds. But in spite of his desire to leave this in Char's hands, a small voice cried out in protest. The pang inside his chest grew, sending warmth from the beating heart to the tips of his fingers.

"No," Garma said, his voice calm and resolute.

"I don't think I understand your reasoning, Colonel -"

"I said no, Char."

Char sighed and shook his head. "You seem to be a bit more anxious than you should be. Try not to let your feelings for a woman make you careless. Please, stay calm."

"I'm as calm as I need to be," Garma said, standing up from his command chair. "We have less than forty percent of our ammunition left to our disposal on this ship, and a thirty-ton Federation aircraft to catch. We're running out of options."

He made his way to the exit and grinned. "Besides, it's been a while since I've stretched my Zaku legs."

Char paused for a fleeting second and then smiled.

"Of course, Colonel."

"Right," Garma said, nodding to Char and Hamble, "Hamble, inform Gable to round up two teams of our best pilots on this ship. We move out in ten."

* * *

><p>Garma strode towards the stairs that led to the launch pad. He whizzed down the steps and took a sharp intake of breath when his eyes met the entrance. Garma glanced out to see the Zakus towering over him. He treaded past the ones painted green until he saw it. Standing erect, coated in a deep auburn shade and a plated green torso, was his Zaku.<p>

It shimmered from the reflected light, greeting him like an old friend. Garma placed his hand on the base of its left leg. He brushed off a thin layer of dust in the process. He hadn't been able to polish it in a while what with scrambling to catch the Trojan Horse.

"It's time for another ride," he said, smiling from ear to ear. Their reunion brought him solace. It sharpened his focus. Echoes of footsteps clacked through the launch pad. Garma swerved his head to see Char accompanied by six men. Two he recognized immediately. Lieutenant Dren shadowed Char like a lost puppy while Lieutenant Gable spaced himself from the rest of the men with his eyes resting on Garma.

"Colonel, teams one and two have been selected and are waiting for your orders," Char said, accompanied by the six men. Three of them hovered near Char.

"Right," Garma said, his gaze directed at the other men, specifically Gable. "Team one, you're with me. We'll be covering the eastern part of this area."

"Team two," he continued, turning his attention towards Char and the three other men beside him, "You are to cover the west of this area. If you detect anything unusual or the object of interest you are to inform myself and my team."

"Remember what we're dealing with here. The Trojan Horse contains three mobile suit units that overpowered our Zakus with little effort. Keep on your toes. If possible, immobilize the enemy and take prisoners alive. We'll have an easier time collecting the information we need that way," Garma said his eyes gliding over the men.

"And try not to leave the ship in scraps. Our cleaning crew can only handle so much," he finished with a sly grin. A few men chuckled.

Garma then climbed up the ladder and opened the hatch of his Zaku. He looked down at his men, suddenly quiet. Their eyes fixed on him.

"Teams, let's move out."

"Sir!"

Garma leaped into his cockpit and settled into the seat. He pressed on the ignition to start the power and turned the knob that lit up his visual screen. He fastened the seat buckles over his torso as the main inner lights flickered on. He then reached near the dashboard for the headset and fitted it snuggly on his head before opening up his communications line.

The engine whirred with excitement, causing his skin to prickle. "I know how you feel," he said softly.

His hands grasped the controls on each side of the cockpit. His feet lingered over the pedals below them. The hatch of the Gau raised open. He aligned his Zaku to the Gau's launching pad.

"Garma Zabi! Launching!"

The gears below the pad hooked onto the feet of the Zaku and thrust it towards the open night air. Garma pressed his feet onto the pedals as his Zaku was released into the atmosphere. The rocket thrusters propelled him further into the sky, pressing G-Force onto his entire body. The blood in his veins pumped and surged throughout his body, and his muscles released in ecstasy. One kilometer, two kilometers, five kilometers, ten kilometers… He observed his visual screen. The city appeared so small in comparison, as if in a snow globe.

He lowered himself slowly, with spurts of his rocket thrusters to prevent rapid descent in a fifty metric ton chunk of metal. He spotted Gable and two accompanying privates near ruins of a park. The feet of his Zaku thudded to the ground near them. It emitted vibrations throughout the entire machine, pulses of tremors came in waves.

"Two of you will follow me northeast to scout. Gable, you will patrol in the air in case the Trojan Horse attempts to take flight. You have the experience of shooting at a distant range."

"Yes, Colonel." Gable then took off within seconds.

Garma shifted his Zaku next to the scorched trees and chipped statues.

"The two of you search the area within a five kilometer radius of me. Inform me if anything strikes you as suspicious."

"Sir!"

Both Zakus trudged through the uninviting terrain. One right, another left. Each parting ways with his colonel. Garma maneuvered his Zaku to a building 107 meters in front of him that had been torn in half. He decided to himself to start in that direction.

The night around him came to a still. All Garma heard were the footsteps of his Zaku that printed onto the cracked pavement. He directed his Zaku down a street full of old apartments. He took his time, checking that the sides of his Zaku wouldn't smash into one of the brick built walls.

He continued down the pathway, his Zaku scanning over the small high rises. Its visual screen swayed from right to left. Nothing out of the ordinary yet. He went down the road of the main street he was on. A change of pace might be what he needed.

Five paces, six paces, ten paces, seventeen paces. His visual screen turned slowly around the area. Garma's right hand pressed gently on the controls to move it right. And then he saw it. A gleam of shiny metal glinting in his eyes. His hands twitched.

He zoomed in for a closer visual. It looked like a beam, still coated with fresh paint. His eyes narrowed. Odd. Something of that sort sticking out of an old baseball stadium.

"Team one, this is your Colonel. I think I spotted something worth checking into near an old baseball stadium. Keep within a 100 meter distance from me. Contact Char."

"Contacting Char, Colonel."

Garma moved his Zaku at a steady pace towards the stadium. He saw on his visual screen two Zakus land and motioned them to follow with the mechanical arm. His heart pounded in his ribcage, the sound reverberating in his ears. He positioned his Heat Hawk in a fighting stance.

"Ready your bazookas."

There was no need to respond. All three knew how delicate the situation was. He crouched behind a chipped building. In five seconds he would emerge. His grip on the controls tightened. He'd have to be quick and mark down their weak points, possibly using decayed buildings as concealment.

He readied himself to leap towards possible enemy territory. His feet pounced on the pedals below. The Zaku soared in the air.

He should have felt confident, prepared. Instead he felt more like a deer in the crosshairs of a shotgun. The hairs on the nape of his neck rose and bit at his skin. His heart stopped.

A blaze of light shot through the sky and grazed his Zaku by inches. The blast from it shattered the remains of a skeletal building near the stadium. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. His mind seemed to speed up what was happening before him. A boom thundering explosion, a tidal wave of dust, and a rain of fire directed straight at him.

Garma jerked on the controls and slammed on the pedals to veer left out of its path. His Zaku retreated under the shade of half a skyscraper. His visual screen detected a flash of red in the left corner. He rotated the head of his Zaku to get a full image. It was Char's Zaku.

"I thought you might need a hand, Garma," Char's voice said over the communication line. "It's a shame I missed the Trojan Horse."

"I was thinking of an ambush rather than taking it head on," Garma responded, his lips thinning. It was too late for that plan now.

"Colonel, the Federation Mobile Suit!" It was Gable's voice.

A streak of white raced across the night sky, disappearing behind a building north where his Zaku was planted. A scream from Gable's communication line emitted before it cut to static. Garma resisted the urge to slam his fist on the visual screen. Damn that Federation pilot.

"It's a ploy to lure us away from the Trojan Horse," Char said, as if musing on something. "The other two mobile units will most likely join that Mobile Suit."

"The mobile unit with the massive canons has very strong defenses," Garma said with his forefinger tapping on the visual screen. "And the new mobile suit is nothing like I've ever seen… I don't think our Zakus have the advantage to take it down."

Char paused, then toyed with the question. "What about the mobile unit tank?"

Garma rubbed the front of his forehead. "I suppose…perhaps with a clean cut to its two main canons. But it's going to take more than one Zaku to carry that hunk of metal."

"Good," Char said, satisfied, "I'll inform Lieutenant Dren and what is left of our teams to cover us. Immobilize the tank, then contact me for assistance. We need to move fast."

"That should be no problem for you," Garma teased.

Char chuckled then stampeded his Zaku between a group of remaining buildings. Garma edged his Zaku near the end of the brick wall that shielded him and zoomed in on the Trojan Horse. The red mobile unit crept slowly away from the ship. His camera scouted from left to right, then spotted movement in his right corner. He grinned. Definitely the mobile unit tank. It seemed more adventurous than its other companion, already within thirty-five meters of his range.

Garma slipped between masses of cement and brick. He needed to attack from behind the mobile unit. Surprise was the key element in the equation. Minovsky Particle Density was too high and rendered his radar useless. Speed. Calculation. Improvisation. Those were allies now. The sound detection picked up movement of crushed sidewalk and debris which grew louder. His Zaku crouched and waited behind a slick building that had been shaved into an anomalous column.

The rumble of gears working against the terrain reached a pitch that provoked his urge to pounce. Garma fired rounds from his Zaku's 120mm machine gun aimed at a nearby building. The dust and bits of metal flew in all directions, creating a shower of remnants. He then attached the machine gun to his Zaku's waist.

With no hesitation, Garma twisted his Zaku to the other side of where he had shot, and sprang out from the column. He towered over the tank from behind. It froze in its place. The hand of his Zaku snatched the right side of the tank with his Heat Hawk raised into the air for a clean shot. The driver of the tank seemed to snap out of his trance, struggling against his pressure, grinding against the gravel below with its wheels.

THWACK!

The left main canon plopped to the ground. His Heat Hawk had cut through the metal like a hot knife on butter. With another strike, he sliced through the second main canon.

"Char" Garma barked through his communication line, "I need backup immediately! The mobile unit tank has been compromised!"

"Alright, Garma. I'll be there shortly," Char responded.

Garma then planted his Zaku hands firmly on the torso of the tank. It waved its arms around like a frightened animal, but its torso remained immobile. Droplets of sweat skated down the sides of his face. He waited with his Zaku out in the open.

Within minutes, a red mobile suit emerged from the building he had taken shots at. The right hand of Char's Zaku waved up. Garma let out a breath of relief.

"Looks like you need a hand."

"Get on the side of it! It can't move its middle torso."

Char maneuvered swiftly to the side of the tank and reached his Zaku hands on the base near Garma's. Char stated through his line, "Dren and the others have circled the Trojan Horse. The red mobile unit is staying near its side. Not a very impressive tactic for the Federation. You would figure they would try to scatter their men to distract it from the ship."

"Maybe the pilot inside is scared," Garma replied.

"A battlefield isn't a place for the scared."

Another voice on the communications line interrupted their conversation. Not Dren's, but rather a private in Garma's team.

"Colonel, the red mobile unit has retreated into the Trojan Horse! It seems to be taking flight!"

"Inform Hamble to head the Gau directly towards the baseball stadium and to aim for its engines. Direct all your firepower towards them!" Garma answered.

The line cut off. Within seconds his visual screen picked up the Gau soaring across the night sky while hot lasers teemed in the air. The sky above them brightened from rich black to a sickly blue. Yet the Gau persisted onward through the swarm of firepower. A glimmer of white metal then parked itself on the left edge of Garma's visual screen.

The Federation Mobile Suit.

"Char!"

Char's Zaku leaped past Garma and the tank, charging towards the Mobile Suit with full force. Garma saw Char dodge the shots from the Mobile Suit's bazooka slung over its shoulder, his Heat Hawk crashing on top of its shield. Garma on the other hand strained to keep a grip on the tank, which was fighting back fiercer than ever before. Its upper arms writhed and shot wildly into the air while the wheels spun rapidly, making the gravel below fling like bullets.

"Well played, Mobile Suit," Garma heard Char mutter through faint static.

The Mobile Suit had retreated, leaping towards the Trojan Horse while using its rocket thrusters for extra lift. It reached the ship with little effort, planting its legs firmly on the edge of the hangar. The entrance of the hangar shut before Garma's eyes as the Trojan Horse gained more distance from the ground. Powered beams dashed across the sky between the Trojan Horse and the Gau, delivering a melancholy choir that sent shivers across Garma's skin.

Within a split second a ray of white-hot light fired from the Trojan Horse's canon, blasting the right wing of the Gau. Smoke and fire sprung to life, burying the wing completely. The Trojan Horse sailed further from the ruins of Seattle as the Gau dove towards the heart of it.

_Hamble_, Garma prayed, _land in a clear pathway._

The Gau tilted its nose upwards while the tail ducked towards a nearby clearing. It hastened in descent, finally touching the tips of earth. The nose trailed not far behind, bumping up and down for a few seconds, then riding smoothly until coming to a full stop. Garma let out a gasp of breath he had held in and laughed in relief.

He opened up the communication line to the Gau. "How are things?" he asked, flashing a smile.

"The canon blast scraped the Gau's right wing," Hamble panted, attempting to regain his breath, "but it's nothing a visit to an emergency dock won't fix."

"Glad to hear it," Garma said, turning his attention to the tank. It seemed to have gone limp.

Before Garma could discuss with Char the dealings with their new guest, the hatch of the tank rose open with a screech of metal against metal. Legs dangled at the edge of the hatch, followed by a body sliding from its cockpit. The pilot of the tank gazed directly at Garma, putting both of his hands up in a sign of surrender. Garma zoomed in on him, the visual screen displaying a clear image of a boy of small stature accompanied by a baby face and lively, round eyes.

"It' can't be," Garma said softly.

"Garma, what is it?" Char's voice responded from the communication line.

"He's…just a kid."


	3. Chapter Two: Children of War

**Zeon Odyssey: Genesis**

**Children of War**

The hours following the capture of the Federation mobile tank were grueling for everyone involved. The shouts of troops echoed throughout the clearing while men scrambled under the dim light of sunrise. Garma's Gau sat in its emergency dock transport vehicle that Garma had requested. Its wing looked like a giant battering ram had smashed into it. So a group of mechanics arrived within the hour to assess what repairs were needed. Garma had left Lieutenant Hamble in charge at the site to oversee that everything kept on schedule.

The remaining Zaku pilots carried the mobile gun tank to base. With careful shifts of movement, and a hooked grip on the machine, they were off. In the meantime two vehicles came to escort Garma, Char, and the Earth Federation detainee to the interrogation room located on base. Garma tried to ignore the feeling of unease and the cuffed and blindfolded Federation soldier. His eyes turned away from the boy as he was escorted to the back seat by two body guards in a nearby vehicle.

The ride passed in silence. Garma concentrated on the unmarked roads ahead; Char glanced outside the side window at passing scorched trees and chipped sidewalks. The van bucked upwards on the road from potholes in the gravel. Garma turned towards Char, watching his forefinger tap gently on the window.

"Today's report is sure to go well," Garma said after letting out a sigh.

"Well of course, Colonel," Char said, a grin forming on his face.

"Kycilia will be _ecstatic_."

Char laughed. Garma's mouth twitched at the corners, finally showing a smile. He then grasped a lock of his hair, twisting it around in his fingers, and looked away. The van went quiet again until it reached a full stop.

"Kycilia will be more interested in our Federation pilot rather than a damaged Gau," Char said softly.

Garma huffed and ruffled his hair. "Don't count on it."

A group of young men clad in uniforms stood in formation at attention as they exited the van. As Garma approached the line of men, each stiffened into place. Char situated himself next to Garma's left side.

"Your orders, Colonel?" the Sargent at the far end of the line inquired.

"Right," Garma said, straightening his shoulders, "escort our Federation captive to the Interrogation Room for questioning. I'll be there shortly."

"Sir!"

They marched off with the Federation soldier surrounded on every side. Garma spotted the boy's face in between the men. His head bowed and his shoulders slumped downward. His feet dragged at a sluggish pace, as if he was in a trance.

"He's acting like a dog with its tail between its legs," Char said with a chuckle. Garma looked off to the side.

"Considering his age, I doubt he's had the chance to acquaint himself with enemy soldiers."

"Well of course," Char said. "Didn't you notice him fidgeting?"

Garma popped his head up and gazed at Char. A faint smile was etched on his face.

"You spotted that?" Garma asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Even without glancing at him, you could sense his fear. It's easy to spot the ones who are aware they bit off more than they could chew."

Garma shrugged his shoulders. "If you say so." His eyes scanned the cracks on the ground before him, mulling over what was bothering him ever since the boy hopped out of his cockpit.

"Char…"

"Hmm?"

"Don't you think it's a bit strange? That the Earth Federation would assign someone so young?"

"Garma, I find this whole ordeal to be strange."

Garma nodded and peered over to see Char stretch out his arms like a cat. The Red Comet then let out a yawn. Garma chuckled, feeling the same way. He then stood up straight and rolled back his shoulders.

"It's been a long day. I've got to head over and ask our detainee a few questions. You on the other hand get some rest.

"Make sure to ruffle his feathers a bit. Take a leaf out of your sister's book."

"Get some rest, Char!"

"Don't go soft on him, Garma!" Char called back.

_Don't get your hopes up_, Garma thought, heading towards the building entrance. Something told him he wouldn't need to get rough with this one. There was innocence about him that lingered even when taken away. He had a manner of one with no experience. Of one still new to the battlefield. If this soldier held any information that was useful at all, it wouldn't be hard to fish it out.

Reaching the interrogation room didn't take long, nor did the briefing of what they managed to pull out of the pilot. The previous interrogator informed Garma that all the detainee would give was a name: Hayato Kobayashi. Garma nodded and told him he would take it from here. He twisted the door handle and slid through the opening. He found the boy staring at the wall while two military policemen stood on either side of him. Garma surveyed Hayato's shoulders. They were shaking.

"Mr. Kobayashi?"

The boy jerked and positioned himself towards Garma. His hands clasped his knees as if they would snap off if he let go. Garma pulled a nearby chair and settled himself in the seat. He rested his hands on his lap and offered a small smile.

"Hayato? Would you prefer me calling you by that instead?"

Hayato shifted his eyes. "I don't think it matters," he muttered.

"Well, would you like something to eat or drink? You haven't had anything since we brought you here. And you were out in your mobile tank all night."

Hayato didn't answer. He let the silence pass between them for a few good minutes.

"Why are you trying to be nice?" he finally asked, his eyes wincing.

"Well why not?" Garma responded, reaching in one of his pockets for his phone. "Just because we're on enemy sides doesn't mean we can't display some human decency." He held up his phone and pressed on the keys to dial in a number.

"Now, if you could have any dish right this second, what would it be?"

"I'm not hungry," Hayato retorted, but his stomach growled loudly. He flushed a bright shade of red.

"Well, I'm starving. So why don't you recommend me something? I'll even share some of it if you change your mind."

"…I guess pot roast would be nice," Hayato mumbled.

"Pot roast it is."

Garma ordered a large portion that was enough to feed five. By the time it was served to them in china bowls, his mouth had dried. Garma took hold of his own fork and gestured to Hayato to join him. He dug into the dish and spooned in a mouthful, tasting the rewards of tender beef and mushroom sauce. He then glanced up to see if Hayato had taken any bites, and grinned. Hayato was halfway through his first serving and still tearing through it like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

"It's good, isn't it?"

"Mmmffhmm."

He laughed and went back to eating. When he had cleaned his bowl out, he leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms lazily. His eyes rested on Hayato, who still took occasional bites from his dish. But the boy's eyes flickered once in a while back at him. Before the hour was up, all the pot roast both were given to sink their teeth into disappeared. Hayato sighed and pushed his bowl away slightly.

"I'm happy you enjoyed it," Garma said. Hayato perked his head up then focused his gaze on the table, away from his. Silence again. They exchanged not a single word for a good solid minute.

"I don't get why you're doing this. Aren't you going to execute me?" Hayato blurted out. He then gasped and bit his lip, looking as if he wished he hadn't said anything at all.

Garma blinked a few times in disbelief and then shook his head. "How old are you, Hayato?"

"Fifteen."

_He's younger than Icelina_.

Garma frowned and let out a long sigh. He focused his gaze on Hayato who returned it this time. "Well, Hayato," Garma started, "we don't execute minors. And even if you were over eighteen, you would have to commit a serious war crime to be put on trial. Being captured as a prisoner of war doesn't make the cut."

A light shined in Hayato's eyes, and he let out a breath he was holding in. "Oh…that's good to hear."

Garma laughed. "Besides, you are under my supervision. And putting fifteen-year olds under trial is not how I manage things around here."

Hayato offered a feeble smile in return. Garma leaned in a bit and said, "It's rather rare for someone your age to be serving in the Federation, Hayato. Were you the youngest on your ship?"

"No!" Hayato protested, "There's Fraw Bow. She's only fourteen. And Amuro is my age. He pilots the Gundam -"

Hayato clapped his hands over his mouth, and his eyes widened with shock. Garma's mouth hung open and his eyebrows furrowed. He grasped at the sides of his chair. "There's _more_ that are your age? How many are there on that ship?"

Hayato's fingers trembled. He eventually placed his hands on either side of his seat, and his lips remained sealed. He looked as though he wouldn't unlock them for years. Garma folded his hands together and laid them on his lap, his eyes softened.

"I won't ask you any more questions that will force you to speak further about this," Garma said, sighing. "But if you can manage a small nod or shake of your head, I would appreciate it. Are we in agreement?"

Hayato paused for a second then slowly nodded his head.

"I'm glad," Garma said and his eyebrows relaxed. "I won't hold you here for much longer."

Garma then brushed a few strands of hair from his face, and asked, "So are there only a few on that ship who are around your age serving the Federation?"

Hayato shook his head quickly then looked to the side.

"…Are most of the people on that ship who are serving the Federation underage?" Garma asked gently.

Hayato peered up at him, and then gave a small nod. Garma sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling with his fingers the knots that formed from all the stress. He had been officially trained to endure the hardships of war, programmed in how to give and take orders, and shoved into situations that meant life or death for those around him. It was part of his duty as a soldier. He had taken a vow at the Academy to protect and serve.

And he had been of age when he did it.

A cold sensation overcame him, and his feet felt as though they had been submerged into a bucket of ice. He had a hunch that wasn't the case for Hayato or others on the Trojan Horse.

"Were you and others forced into this position?"

Hayato nodded.

Garma pressed his hands on his legs and remained still for a moment. He then rose from his seat and stepped towards Hayato, finally placing his hand on the back of his chair. Hayato gazed up, curiosity spread across his face.

"I think that's enough questions for now," Garma said. "You will be escorted to our Kingston Quarters on base. It's usually reserved for higher-up detainees. I think you'll find the accommodations satisfying enough. It was designed to mimic rooms on Earth after all."

Garma then made his way to the exit, but stopped himself before grabbing the door handle. He turned around to face Hyato.

"Thanks," Hayato said, still sitting in his chair, "I know you don't have to do that for me."

"No one has ever used it before. And what's the point of retaining nice quarters if they go to waste?" Garma said, giving Hayato a faint smile before departing with his key.

Garma ordered a group to escort Hayato to his new quarters within the hour and then headed off to get some rest before reporting in to Kycilia. He had a great deal to discuss with her and preferred to be alert when doing so. And after working endlessly through the night and afternoon with a body that currently felt like a jellyfish, his goose-feathered pillows and comforter were going to welcome him to paradise.

He reached his front door in short time. Confrontations with the Trojan Horse flashed through his mind in snapshots. A white Mobile Suit charging towards Char's Zaku, a red mobile unit firing canon blasts into the air, the Trojan Horse soaring through the sky in a sea of enemy fire. All piloted by youth Garma swore to protect.

_What kind of military lets children fight their battles?_ Garma thought with disgust.

"Those sorts of tactics should be outlawed," he muttered to himself while burrowing deep into his covers.

* * *

><p>Garma awoke sometime in the early hours of the morning to his phone ringing on the nightstand beside him. He snatched it to see who had decided to call him at 5:34 A.M. The screen glared at him in the dimly lit room with tuffs of covers splayed around him. The words read "Icelina Eschonbach" in text format with her number displayed below.<p>

"Oh Icelina," Garma said, raking through his hair. She must have been worried sick.

He dialed her number and waited for her voice to respond. With a few rings, he finally heard her through the line. "I was so scared," Icelina whispered. She sounded as though she had been crying. "I thought that you were going to die."

Garma retreated back into his covers, covering his face with his free hand. "I'm sorry. I know I should have called after returning to base." At the very least, to tell her he was safe.

"It's okay. It's just, well, when you left that night on the balcony… I had this nasty feeling that you were never coming back. I'm just glad I was wrong."

"So am I," Garma said quietly. "Listen, Icelina? Would you like to come over sometime this afternoon?"

"Sure, I'd love to! I should probably get some sleep though, now that I know you're alright."

"Have sweet dreams," Garma said and hung up the phone. He wanted to head back to bed too, but it was best he start the day. He needed to write down his report and make notes about the details Kycilia would no doubt ask for. He groaned and slid his feet to the floor, padding towards his desk in the dark. He felt for the lamp on the wooden surface, accidentally knocking a few items over, but eventually reaching its knob. Light filled the room and blinded him for a second. Garma blinked and rubbed his eyes, dropping into his seat.

He reached for a pen and paper, scribbling away at what his sister would pry at. When it looked complete, he put the pen down and headed towards the shower. A cold spritz smacked him wide awake. It refreshed him. He could handle his sister's jabs at his blunders now that he was squeaky clean. He then started to iron his uniform while wearing a bathrobe and heard the jingling of keys.

"I brought coffee from the chow hall. It's French Vanilla," Char's voice called from the hallway.

"Thanks! Just leave it on the nightstand," Garma responded, ironing a pant leg.

Char appeared around the corner and put aside two paper cups and sunglasses before turning back to Garma. His eyes scanned over Garma's fuzzy pine-green bathrobe and attempt to straighten pants. He crossed his arms and tilted his head.

"Now what happens if the alarm rings off and you're forced to give orders in a bathrobe? You've got to be prepared, Garma!"

"I'd hardly call ironing clothes at 6:30 A.M. unprepared," Garma said, putting his pants aside.

"I still don't understand why you refuse to have Cecilia iron your uniform."

"What can I say, it calms me," Garma said, giving Char a wink.

"If we were still at the Academy it would be considered rushing."

"Thank god we're not at the Academy then."

Char then reached for the uniform jacket and said, "Let me starch the collar for you. You'll be running late otherwise."

"If you insist," Garma said, fighting off laughter. Char had to be so anal about some things.

"Garma, hand me the iron and starch spray."

"Here you are," Garma said, presenting both. "I'm heading to the bathroom to put on my pants."

He came out less than a minute later to find Char holding his jacket up like a beacon. "See," he said gleefully, "you have to apply a light coat evenly to the collar before ironing. Otherwise the results will be unsatisfactory."

"Well you did a magnificent job starching, Commander Aznable," Garma said while slipping on his inside shirt.

"Three times faster than the average laundress," Char said, handing over the jacket.

"Thanks," Garma said, sliding into and fastening his uniform jacket. Char glided over to the bed and grabbed one of the coffee cups.

"So what's on the agenda today?" Char asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"I'm going to report to Kycilia after I finish my coffee," Garma said, putting on his socks and boots.

Char snapped his head up, placing his coffee back on the nightstand. "I thought you reported in to her yesterday," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"I was exhausted yesterday. By the time I returned to my room I would have been incoherent."

"Well, that's what happens when you don't drink the right amount of coffee, Garma," Char said, jumping to his feet. He brushed off his uniform with haste then headed towards the door.

"You've got to be prepared," he said with one last glance at Garma.

"Char, hold on! You almost forgot your sunglasses."

Char stopped in his tracks and turned around. "See, another example for you. Without these, I wouldn't look so stylish while chatting with the men."

"I don't know why you insist wearing them everywhere," Garma said exasperatedly. "No one will get to see your blue eyes."

Char reached over for the sunglasses and placed them on. He flashed a grin and then headed back towards the door. "Drop me a line when you're finished rallying information to Kycilia. I'd like to know how the interrogation went myself!"

He slammed the door before Garma could answer back. Garma stared in bafflement for a moment then headed over to the nightstand to taste the delights of French Vanilla. He grasped his coffee cup and sipped away at it. It was still warm. Char had rushed all the way here so they could have fresh coffee this morning. He picked up Char's cup with his free hand, swishing it around.

"He left it half full," Garma said setting the cup back down on the nightstand. "What a waste of coffee."

There was a knock on Garma's bedroom door. He straightened himself then said, "Come in, Cecilia."

Cecilia entered in with her kit of grooming supplies. She nodded at him then placed it on his bed. "We don't have much time," she said, grabbing a brush from the kit. "Lady Kycilia will be seeing you shortly, and I haven't done a thing with that hair of yours!"

Cecilia rushed to get him ready before Garma headed out to the main room where he would communicate with Kycilia. Within a couple of minutes, the light in the corner of Garma's main computer screen blinked bright red in three intervals. Garma rose to his feet. Kycilia would be greeting him through video within seconds. Before Garma could reach for his notes on the desk, Kycilia appeared in pixelated form wearing her signature lavender uniform.

"We were scheduled for this hour, Garma," Kycilia sniped.

"I'll be with you in a second," Garma called to the screen, waving his notes in the air. He rushed over to her.

"It worked out for both of us to meet today. I have important updates to notify you about."

"Yes?" Garma said, perking up his head.

"With Char's failed attempts to capture the Trojan Horse, Dozle has decided to send Lieutenant Ramba Ral to chase after it as well. We both agreed it would be to our advantage to direct Char eastward towards Belfast, while Ramba Ral heads westward towards Odessa. After receiving information from a trusted source, it has come to our attention that the Trojan Horse will be heading to Belfast to refuel before attempting to reach Jaburo."

"And what of Ramba Ral?"

"He will be stationed at Odessa for the time being. As we also have reason to believe an attack on our mining facilities will occur within a few weeks."

"That soon?"

"Yes. And if Ramba Ral manages to sack the Trojan Horse before reaching Odessa, then it is all to our advantage. However, if he fails and the Trojan Horse passes over Odessa - "

"Then Char will take over from there while Ramba Ral remains on the defense at Odessa. I understand. Nice strategy, Kycilia."

"And you will be accompanying Ramba Ral there."

Garma blinked a few times, not sure he heard correctly. "But I'm stationed at this base."

"Your second base commander will watch over this base," Kycilia said and exhaled sharply. "Garma, honestly."

"Oh…right," Garma mumbled. "Of course. Colonel Jones will be more than able to lead while I'm gone."

"Speaking of, I would like the details about what happened in Seattle from your own account."

Garma skimmed over his notes and then gazed back up at his sister. He elaborated on the losses of ammunition and how they had no choice but to search using Zakus, and talked avidly about how he ambushed the mobile unit with Char fending off the Mobile Suit. Garma then proceeded to discuss Hamble and his incredible feat of landing the Gau safely while saving the entire crew.

"Anything else?"

"Well, the Mobile Suit can separate in to usable parts and conjoin again into one unit for starters. And…the pilot. He's only fifteen. I only managed to attain his first name. He was referred to as Amuro."

Kycilia stood there silent for a moment and a small glint in her eye flickered before quickly fading away. "That…_is_ interesting," she finally said softly.

"They all are. Most of that ship, Kycilia. It's full of kids who are around the age of fifteen," Garma cried out. He ruffled his hair and looked back up at her. "It's unbelievable. The Federation forced these children into service. They're not even officially trained!"

Kycilia stroked her fingers under her chin and a smile formed on her face. "Is your prisoner young as well?"

Garma's stomach writhed for a second, then ceased. "Yes, he is. But I don't think he needs to be pressed for more information. Kycilia, he really wouldn't have any high level Earth Federation plans or secret plots."

"Interrogation won't be necessary. However, I think the Flanagan Institute would find your prisoner to their interest."

Garma stood before her, breathless. He guessed Kycilia took that as an indication to continue.

"You've done excellent, Garma. Hamble might be able to qualify for a Medal of Honor. You and Char will possibly be receiving the Distinguished Service Cross for your efforts as well. Though refrain from sharing that news with Char until he actually is handed the honor in person. We don't need it getting to his head."

"Of course," Garma responded, looking down at his feet.

"I want you to greet Ramba Ral at the base's docking port. He should be arriving promptly at 12:30 this afternoon."

"I'll be more than happy to, Kycilia."

"Oh, and Garma?"

"Yes?"

"Make sure you take time to eat a proper meal. That uniform is looking a little loose on you."

Garma managed to smile up at her feebly. "Thanks, Kycilia. I'll be sure to do that."

The screen flickered back to black. Garma checked his watch. He still had three hours before Ramba Ral arrived. Garma made a few phone calls to assure a ride for himself to the base docking port and that Ramba Ral's flight arrived on schedule. He then strolled to his desk and settled into the seat. His right hand grazed the sides of the desk until he found the knob at the end. He pulled on it, revealing a drawer that contained records upon records of notes from previous logs. He dated his notes then stuffed them in with the rest of the pile.

Garma closed the drawer then rested his arms on the edge of the desk surface. His eyes fixated on the photo frame in front of him; he frowned in its direction. It had toppled over during his morning excursion to his desk. He placed it upright with care, checking if there were any dents or scratches. When Garma was certain not a mark surfaced, he sighed in relief.

Gihren called him too sentimental for his own good. But while the picture had no financial value for someone like his older brother, it remained one of his most valued possessions. He had kept it with him since he could remember. Under the glass in the frame was a woman in her early thirties holding a boy around the age of five in one arm while hugging an older boy around thirteen. Her hair came down in waves of iris, and her burnt-sienna skin glistened against her sundress. Her arms were slender, but grasped the boys in a strong embrace. And the smile caught in the photo reached to her eyes. Dozle often commented to Garma how her eyes resembled his.

Everyone in Side 3 had known her as Lady Nalisse Zabi. But he had simply known her as mom.

In the corner of the photo was a message composed in her handwriting: "Always with you." She didn't live for much longer after the photo had been taken and signed. When Garma first heard Nalisse wasn't coming home, he asked Gihren what happened. Gihren told him she died in a ship accident. He didn't find out until much later from Dozle that it had been an explosion caused from enemy fire.

Garma looked away from the photo and headed towards his bed. He decided a quick nap sounded like the best option to do with his spare time. Sitting on the edge, he slipped off his boots and patted his bed. He set the alarm to ring at noon sharp to have enough time to reach the docking area. Garma then nuzzled into the pillows, and as he sunk lower into the bed, he felt himself drift away.


	4. Chapter Three: Newtype Theory

**Zeon Odyssey: Genesis**

**Newtype Theory**

Garma yawned and opened his eyes, hearing the sound of an engine whirr with content. He blinked a few times, not believing what he saw. He was buckled in the seat of a biplane, and there was nothing but endless night sky below and above him. Garma pressed his fingers against the metal husk of the plane coated in navy blue paint. It felt warm against his hand, welcoming him like an old friend.

Garma reclined back into his cushioned seat, letting the plane take him where ever it fancied. Out in the distance, rays of light flickered back at him. The plane tilted to the left and headed towards it. When Garma grew closer, the light formed into an island.

"An island in the middle of space?" Garma said, his eyes transfixed on the island. He then shrugged. "On second thought, flying a biplane in space doesn't make sense either."

The plane putted a few times then dived toward the island adrift in a sea of stars. It hummed near the surface and finally touched ground, coming to a halt after a few bumps. The biplane's pedals went still, and all was silent.

Garma unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out of his seat; the earth crunched beneath his boots. He looked up into the endless abyss above him, feeling small in comparison. Garma then glanced back at the plane, wishing he could bring his metal friend with him. He didn't want to leave, yet something pulled him away. A feeling itched at him to go forward.

He patted the plane and set off onto the pebble pathway carved through the trees. The sound of pebbles crushed beneath his boots echoed on the path, and the light around him began to fade. As the enclosed trees built a tunnel around him, a chill crept up Garma's spine. Part of him didn't want to find whatever was at the end of this path and even felt a little sick thinking about it. But another part of him needed to continue. Call it curiosity, or perhaps closure, but he needed to know what lay at the end.

He marched on and heard the forest buzz with a hum he never recalled. It was almost as if the path pulsed alive, and Garma felt its heartbeat match with his own. As the mysterious hum grew louder, it began to shake the pebbles below his feet. The vibration purred beneath him and tingled his skin until he felt nothing.

Then the pathway opened up and flushed Garma in gold light. All that was left of the island faded away.

Colors all across the spectrum whizzed around him and flashed rays of light. Garma peered up at the colossal tornado formed around him, breathless. He watched streams of colors cross near him, almost in a pattern. The colors then merged together harmoniously and dissipated before him like wisps of smoke.

All that was left in the nothingness was a boy around the age of eight who stood near him. At first relief swept through him for not being alone in this place. But as his eyes concentrated on the boy's appearance, it was replaced by unease. For even though he was a young child, the boy had a grim look carved onto his face. It was a look Garma had only seen on the battlefield. The blonde curls on the boy's head appeared dull and lifeless, as if they would all fall off if you plucked one strand of hair.

Garma frowned and wondered where the child's parents could be and how they could leave him in such a state. The boy's eyes then snapped to Garma. They were the only life left in the boy, but it unnerved him. The blue eyes were fierce, animal-like even, and held a thirst to kill. Garma retreated a few steps back out of impulse then noticed the gun in the boy's hand.

"What do you plan to do with that?" Garma asked with all the calm he could muster.

"What I should have done a long time ago."

The boy aimed the gun at Garma's head and fired.

Garma woke up drenched in sweat and gasping for air. His hands clapped to his forehead and searched for a bullet hole. He then exhaled with relief and withdrew his hands back to his sides. He closed his eyes and curled to the side of his bed.

"It was just a nightmare. Get a grip on yourself."

He slammed his feet onto the wooden floor and propelled himself towards the closet. He was naked, and the dream had left him feeling vulnerable. He needed to cover himself. Garma yanked a uniform down and started dressing. He had been sweating in his sleep and he could smell himself, but he didn't care. Once outside his room, he found Cecilia waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

"I was about to wake you up," she said, carrying a newspaper under her arm.

"No need. I'm already off."

It took less time than he thought to reach the base docking port. Garma waited for Ramba Ral while sipping on lemonade a guard handed him. He flipped through the newspaper Cecilia gave him before he left in the transport vehicle to the docking port. The front page held nothing of interest and was filled with pictures of the grand celebration held at Side 3 for October 3rd. He kept scanning the pages until a small editorial in the corner of page six caught his eye.

"SOUTH AMERICA NEXT?" the title read. Garma continued further.

"_Sources that have requested to remain anonymous recently informed our staff of the Principality's next target: Jaburo. While Prince Gihren Zabi is insistent that an offensive strategy will end this war sooner and gain freedom for the Principality, one has to question the merit of that statement. With depleting resources that will take more than a few weeks recovery, it seems rash to pursue a Federation juggernaut._

_Furthermore, with the support of Prince Gihren, congress has proposed a new law that would have the right to confiscate journalist material. If the material is concluded a 'threat to security', the persons providing the material will be sentenced to execution for treason without a trial._

_With such extreme proposals being put through congress as you read this very page, one has to wonder: What is Gihren Zabi really fighting for?_"

Garma put down the newspaper and perked his head, letting his eyes trail to a stout man heading in his direction. The man marched towards him with a prideful strut while his cape flapped in the breeze, carrying a friendly twinkle in his eye.

"So the son of Degwin Sodo Zabi needs company to Odessa?"

Garma grinned back at him. "It's Colonel Garma now, Lieutenant."

"Well I'll be," Ramba Ral said, a grin forming on his face to match Garma's. "You really have grown up." His eyes then skimmed the newspaper in Garma's hand.

"Anything worth reading in there?"

Garma pointed to the article he read moments ago. "Well one caught my eye," he said, offering the newspaper to Ramba Ral.

"Ah, that's some of Linden Carter's work," Ramba Ral said, his eyes blazing through the article, "I thought he would have been banned from writing months ago."

"You don't think he has any value as a writer?" Garma inquired.

"No…" Ramba Ral said, giving him a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I think he has too much of it…" He looked away from Garma. "Carter was a prolific journalist back when your mom was still around. Wrote all kinds of stories up until Deikun's death. I'm surprised he's picked it up again."

Ramba Ral then handed the newspaper back to Garma. "Maybe after a briefing we can grab a Guinness?"

"Will Lieutenant Crowley be joining us?"

Ramba Ral laughed. "As if Hamon could resist a nice Scotch after a long flight!"

After Lieutenant Hamon led out the line of men from Ramba Ral's ship, the men went to at attention and waited for Garma's instructions. Garma briefed them about their situation with the Trojan Horse before relaying that their main destination was Odessa.

"The Trojan Horse is nothing to trifle with," Garma said, his words carrying weight. "They might be depleted of some resources by the time they cross the Pacific, but this ship has two fully capable Mobile Suit fighters that can turn Zakus into scrap metal.

"Our best bet is to head to a rest stop before Odessa. We'll need to restock on supplies, and chances are higher in running into the Trojan Horse the closer we get to Odessa. New Delhi is a perfect option given that it's on our turf. After we restock there we'll travel a route through Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, and Turkey. Finally after crossing the Black sea, we'll reach Odessa.

"Ramba Ral and a selected few will be tackling these Mobile Suit units if we come across them. I will in turn inform Ramba Ral and the rest of you if we need any more men out there," Garma said, shifting his gaze towards Ramba Ral then back at the men. "Though I'd like to keep our fighters to a minimum, given how much damage these Mobile Suit units can do."

The men nodded agreement. Ramba Ral then cleared his throat before Garma spoke up again.

"We will meet at this docking port tomorrow at 08:00 hours to prepare for departure. All of you are dismissed for now unless notified otherwise."

The men scattered within a few minutes, leaving Garma, Hamon, and Ramba Ral to talk amongst themselves. Ramba Ral cleared his throat and looked at Garma.

"Onto the business of drinks! Hamon and I would love to know the best spot on base to grab a pint."

Garma perked up at the proposal of sharing a drink with them and smiled. "That would be Goldmine"

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

* * *

><p>The smell of fresh, baked bread lingered in the dim bar. Men out of uniform lined up at the bar stools accompanied by glasses of beer and whiskey on coasters, and a faint tune that sounded like jazz played through the speakers. People clustered around, chatting away about their daily events. Their voices buzzed throughout the place like chickens in a coop.<p>

Garma spotted a booth at the back of the bar that was empty. He motioned Ramba Ral and Hamon to follow him then headed to the secluded spot. They sank into red, velvet cushions and waited for a server. Heels clacked on the mahogany wood floor towards their booth. A server with a ballpoint pen at hand asked each of them what they wanted to order.

"A Guinness for me, nice and tall. No less than a pint," Ramba Ral said giving a wink.

"Sounds like a man who knows his beers," the waitress said, giving a laugh. "And for you, Miss?"

"A Scotch on the rocks please," Hamon said, skimming her menu. "I'd also love it if you brought over a side of grilled shrimp."

"Scotch and shrimp? Got it," the waitress responded, her pen racing on the notepad. She looked up and flushed a shade of pink. "And for you, Prince Zabi?"

"Oh," Garma said, stumbling on his words for a second, "right." They had all changed out of their formal uniforms, but for Garma, being a Zabi was a trademark. Even though he should know better that he would be universally recognized, it still managed to surprise him when he was off guard.

"Your order?" the waitress said, retreating her gaze to the notepad.

"Just a glass of white wine," Garma said then looked up, offering a smile. "And your famous crab cakes please. My friends here need to try this before they leave."

"I'll make sure the staff gets right on that," she said, giving a quick nod and retreating back to the cooks.

Ramba Ral chuckled. "You looked like someone kicked the wind out of you."

"Go easy on him, dear," Hamon said, rubbing at Ramba Ral's shoulder.

"Is my hair that recognizable?" Garma asked, touching it without thinking.

"Boy, it's the lighthouse beacon on a stormy night," Ramba Ral said, laughing. "Except in a shade of lavender."

"Keep that up and I'll shave myself bald!" Garma replied with a grin.

"Well it could have been worse. At least you don't have the permanent scowl your brother has. All the seriousness of a politician but the hair of a pop star," Ramba Ral said, wiggling his eyebrows. Hamon giggled.

"Oh no," Garma said, putting his face in his hands, "don't leave that image in my head. Gihren can't even sing."

"I'm sure he has the voice of an angel," Hamon said with a smirk.

"Yeah, maybe to a bunch of frogs."

Garma glanced over at Ramba Ral. His gleeful expression erased away and formed into a sharp stare, fixed on something in the room. Garma traced his gaze to a man at a table across the bar who was staring back at the three of them. The man wore a casual white shirt and black tie and pants, but he was built like an Olympic weight lifter. Garma recognized the slicked back hair and the tattoo carved into the side of the man's neck.

"That's my bodyguard." Garma said, turning back to Ramba Ral. "Even though all of the Zabi family had been trained in self-defense, Kycilia suggested we keep a bodyguard around us at all times. Hank is actually really pleasant to people. He'll only break your neck if you try anything on me."

"Well why don't we offer Hank to join us?" Ramba Ral said.

"The fact that he's staying further away is a good sign. He'll only shadow me if there's a threat nearby. I have to pretend not to notice him otherwise. He could become a target too if I show we're close friends in public."

"Sounds like a good insurance for you. But your threats might not always be a few nutty strangers."

A scent of shrimp drizzled with garlic butter and lemon grew closer to them. The waitress had reappeared with their food and drinks. She placed the drinks on coasters with the name "Goldmine" stamped into them then handed the grilled shrimp and crab cakes.

"Those crab cakes were just cooked a minute ago. I wish I could have one myself. Tell me if you need anything else," the waitress said, then went back into the crowd.

"Feel free to try one," Garma said, offering his crab cakes. "They're delicious."

"They really are," Ramba Ral said, taking a bite of crab cake. "Hamon, you've got to try the crab cakes."

"I'm already one step ahead of you," Hamon said, taking her second bite.

Garma finished his crab cake while discussing the new spaceport built last month, and inevitably the conversation changed like it always did when Garma chatted with old friends. By the time Ramba Ral finished his last sip of Guinness, they managed to apply the theory of Schrodinger's Cat to the possibility of a black hole swallowing the solar system. As Ramba Ral gulped his last sip and wiped the bits of foam off his mustache, a mutual silence was shared between the three of them for a fleeting moment**. **Haman then flicked her gaze to Garma for a second then looked at Ramba Ral.

"He really does resemble her, doesn't he?"

"In more ways than one," Ramba Ral said, his eyes glazing over. The wrinkles trailed on his face appeared deeper than before.

"You mean my mother?" Garma said, leaning in slightly.

"Yes," Hamon said, focusing her eyes on him, "we do."

"It was thanks to her we met Zeon Deikun. Hamon and I were just starting college back then, but Nalisse talked with us as if we were on equal footing with Deikun. We weren't silly, little kids to her."

"Nalisse and I would chat over a glass of Scotch," Hamon, said brushing the tip of her glass. "She was quite a talker back in those days."

"She could see the possibilities in just about anything," Ramba Ral said with a laugh. "Kept going on about Deikun's newtype theory."

"Newtype theory?" Garma inquired. He had never heard of such a thing.

"You see," Ramba Ral said lowly, "Zeon Deikun had this idea that people could connect with one another with the help of space. He went on how people would be able to understand each other out of instinct. Reading people's minds, and all that."

"Like telepathy?" Garma said, leaning in. The room fell silent around him. He saw people in the bar clang their empty glasses on the tables and embrace someone near their side for a chat, but he heard not a sound. The only voices that had any clarity at all were coming from the two people in front of him.

"That would be one way of saying it," Ramba Ral said, a smile escaping the corner of his mouth. "But it's a little more than that. Deikun thought this understanding would mean one day people would put down their guns and be at peace with one another."

"Try saying that philosophy to the Federation."

Ramba Ral let out a laugh. "You have to understand, boy. Deikun was big during a time when Side 3 was under the Federation's thumb. He told us we were more than castaways left to rot in space because Earth got a little too crowded for comfort. He gave us hope."

"And his word on this newtype theory was good enough for you?" Garma asked, letting out a few chuckles.

"It was good enough for your mother."

That shut Garma up. He retreated his gaze back to his empty wine glass, feeling his chest contract slightly.

"Dear," Hamon said, putting a hand on Ramba Ral's shoulder, "why don't you tell Garma about your chat with Dozle?"

"Yes, well," Ramba Ral said, flustering a bit in his cheeks, "he wanted me to remind you to check in more often. Don't get too caught up in work to the point where you forget what's happening with your own family."

"Oh…right. He must be preoccupied with Zenna going into labor any day now. The due date for the baby is around sometime next week," Garma mused, twiddling his thumbs.

"All the more reason to keep in touch," Hamon said, pulling Garma out of his thoughts.

"I can't argue that point." Garma leaned back in his seat and sighed. "I've been meaning to call him. It's just been so chaotic lately, what with the Trojan Horse and keeping the base in check."

"Excuses, boy. All excuses."

"Hey!" Garma laughed, glancing over at Ramba Ral. "I'll get around to it. I'm not one to flake out on my own brother."

"Good," Ramba Ral said and nodded. "Or else he might have to fly down here and put you in a headlock himself."

"Yeah…" Garma paused and look to the side at the edge of the wooden table that had been chipped away at.

"He really does care about you."

Garma looked back up at Ramba Ral then recoiled his gaze to his hands.

"I know."

* * *

><p>It was still in the afternoon when Garma found Icelina leaning on the side of his bedroom doorway. She offered him a smile while batting her eyelashes at him in a way he was all too familiar with. He dropped the book he was reading at the moment and gestured his hand towards the cushioned chair across from his.<p>

"So I don't get our usual greeting this time?" she remarked, raising an eyebrow, but nonetheless she sat down beside him.

Garma reached for her hands and she responded by lacing her hands in his. Even now they felt supple against his own skin, holding warmth that was all too soothing. He breathed in deeply and gazed at her for a second. The smile on her face faded, then transformed into a look of suspicion.

"…What's going on?" she asked cautiously. Her fingers squirmed slightly.

"Icelina, you're wonderful to be around. But -"

Icelina retracted her hands. They scrunched against the armchair.

"But _what?_"

"I don't think this is going to work out. I can't guarantee us a happy ending. I can't even promise you that I will come back from any battles I'm in."

"I'm willing to do what it takes," she cried, her lip quivering. "You _know that_. You know that I would give up my life here if you needed to return back to Side 3."

"You also talked about your dreams of going into medical school. I remember, because it was our first real date and you had talked so passionately about it to the point where you couldn't eat. You had waited all day to work up an appetite, but would rather spend time talking about how exciting it was to take your exams because it meant you were that much closer to getting in."

"They have a medical school on Side 3," Icelina argued.

"Side 3 is also a target right now. It's not the same as going to a safe school here on earth where they have underground bunkers."

"Then I'll wait for you," she protested. "After the war and my schooling, I'll come back to you. We can start a life together like you had said. We can be happy."

"I can't expect you to do that for me," Garma said, noticing his hands getting clammy. "You'll have so many options down here on earth…so many suitors. And they'll be able to take you on dates without the threat of any political radicals ruining your time together. You'll be able to bring your fiancé home to your father and he won't look at you with disdain at your choice. He'll be able to bring you to his family, and you won't have to face any threats of being excluded just because your father is an Earth Federation supporter. You'll get through this, and you'll be happy."

Icelina didn't burst into tears. She didn't hit him or curse at him. She simply gazed up at him with a look that could almost be described as pity.

"…You're willing to give up on all of this?"

Garma nodded. He felt chills run up and down his skin as he watched her leave the room, but remain rooted in his seat. He kept telling himself he was doing the best thing, that to continue such a romance would be foolhardy and would cause the both of them more grievances because of the adversities they would naturally face. Nevertheless, he felt his stomach drop.

* * *

><p>Moonlight bathed the sides of the balcony that Garma leaned on back in the comfort of his headquarters. The cool breeze tickled his face as he sipped some of the rose petal tea with a mellow blend of citrus that Cecilia had given him. It was light in flavor, but soothed his chest pains with each gulp. He turned his head towards Cecilia and gave her a nod in gratitude.<p>

"It's supposed to have calming effects," she said, reaching for her own tea cup. "That tea might help relieve some of the stress you keep bottled up all day."

"Well it can't hurt to give it a fair shot," Garma said, taking another mouthful of tea. He then gazed up at the clusters of stars and trickle of constellations, which he had done so many times with Icelina, and sighed.

"Such a shame it had to end so quickly between you two," Cecilia said, a frown forming on her face. "She was a sweet girl. Your brother would have loved to welcome her into the family."

"You know it wouldn't have worked out," Garma replied, saying it more to himself than anyone else. "Her father is an Earth Federation supporter and I'm a Zabi. I'd be bringing her into the lion's den."

Cecilia rubbed Garma's back with one hand. "Well, I've seen you all grow up and watched your dates come and go, though you seemed more serious with this one. It almost reminded me of how Dozle courted Zenna."

She then sighed. "But I can't tell you what to do. You're a big boy now. If you think this is the best option, then there's nothing anyone can do to convince you otherwise."

Garma put down his finished tea and pressed his fingers into the rail of the stone balcony. The cool sensation shot through his body and soothed the palms of his hands. He then focused his gaze on a nearby rosebush, unable to face Cecilia.

"You know," he said, "I really do care about her. That's why I'm doing this. She'll get into medical school like she planned to, probably meet a great doctor along the way, and have a nice life. I can't guarantee her any of that."

His voice started to shake. "I couldn't even promise her I would come back alive a few nights ago. Not while really thinking how easily I could die out there. It would be a mistake -"

The side of his face felt wet, and before he could protest, Cecilia held him in a tight embrace. Garma let out a long breath he had kept in and felt his shoulders loosen up. Cecilia reached for her handkerchief and wiped the tear away that had escaped one of his eyes. "There there," she cooed, "you'll be alright. You just need some rest to get your mind away from these thoughts."

"I was a fool for thinking she and I could escape this madness."

Cecilia put a firm hand on his shoulder. "You'll only end up a fool if you allow yourself to think you have any control over how life turns out in the long run. Someone can plan all they like, but there are some things no one alive can change."

"Yeah…"

"You don't always have to try and make the hard decisions for everyone either, Garma. It's okay for people to make a few mistakes," Cecilia said with a wink.

"Well now I feel even more like an idiot," Garma said with a laugh.

Cecilia headed towards the door leading back into the main living room, but paused and turned around to face him before she reached it. She held up a piece of paper for him to see, then said, "I managed to find the contact number and address of the medical school Icelina will be attending. You can do whatever you want with this information, but I'm just letting you know I'm putting it on your nightstand."

"Thanks, Cecilia," Garma said as Cecilia nodded and left him to his own thoughts. He knew she had a point about at least keeping in touch with Icelina. But before his mind could wander any more, he heard a sharp knock on the door.

"I thought I'd pay you a visit before you left," Char said, closing the balcony door behind him.

"It's about time you showed up. I guess the man who's three times faster forgot that tea will always finish first," Garma teased.

"I was never a fan of rose petal tea anyway," Char said with a chuckle.

"So are you looking forward to Belfast?"

"Not as much as I'm sure you're eager to see Odessa."

Garma flashed him a grin. "We're both in for quite a ride." He then headed towards one of the balcony chairs and sank into it. Char sat in the one parallel to his own.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

Garma shrugged and said, "Not any better than anyone else on my ship." He closed his eyes and took in a few deep breaths.

Char grabbed both of Garma's shoulders, snapping Garma's eyelids open, and said, "Well get over it for your own sake. You're a Colonel now, Garma. You can't afford to look exhausted."

"Do you want me to crack and start talking in rhymes while wearing nothing but my socks?"

"Of course not," Char said, looking intently into his eyes, "but you have more responsibilities now Garma. People are looking up to you for guidance. This isn't the academy where you can fail and try again tomorrow. You won't have me to give you pointers on what to do in code red situations. You're going to be on your own now. So you better learn fast how to act in a position of authority."

"You don't think I know that?" Garma said, his fingers twitching slightly.

"You might," Char insisted, "but you could always use a reminder."

"Well thanks, but I would also prefer a moment to unwind when I am away from the battlefield. And I think we're safe for the time being, so I will go ahead and eat these leftover biscuits in peace."

"Well, I suppose I can't argue that point," Char said, picking up a biscuit himself.

Garma noted the overflow of delight as Char took each bite, and wondered how much Char allowed himself to indulge in simple pleasures ever since he had left the academy. He had never detected it before, but Char seemed incredibly agitated, as if he expected someone to pop out of the rosebushes below and shoot them. There had been hints here and there ever since Char arrived on earth that he was a bit antsy, but that was understandable considering the pressure and demands they were under. However, the way Char's eyes darted up at Garma now emulated a feeling of wariness. It was more than Char being alert; it was paranoia.

"Char," Garma said, trying to choose his words carefully, "I consider you one of my close friends. If anything is bothering you, I will be here for you if you need to talk about it."

Char scoffed and put down the biscuit he had in his hand. "Why the sudden sentimental talk?" he teased.

"Well, you always give me a few reminders when I need them," Garma said, leaning back in his chair, "I figured you might need one of these while we still have some time."

Char stared at Garma and the corner of his mouth twitched. He looked as if he were about to say something. Instead he averted his gaze and reached for the helmet next to him. Char placed it on his head and headed towards the balcony door. Garma felt a bit numb, but was not surprised. Char tended to be a closed book.

"Thanks for the biscuits," Char said. "I could always use something sweet."

"Char…"

Char paused before turning the door handle.

"Have a safe trip to Belfast."

"You have a safe trip too," Char said lowly, leaving Garma alone on the balcony with the door halfway shut.

Garma sighed and contemplated asking for more rose petal tea. He wondered how long Char would remain tight lipped over whatever was bothering him. Garma could relate to the feeling of uneasiness and having the heartbeat of a hummingbird at odd times. But unlike Char, he was eager to search for anything to diffuse the tension he felt inside.

"He is fighting a tidal wave," Garma said to himself, rubbing his forehead. He then trudged towards his bedroom for some well needed sleep, trying to not let the swarm of concerns consume him.


End file.
